So Sorry, Flushed For You
by Worlds Beyond My Own
Summary: She kept him centered, a bright star in the center of a disintegrating black hole. She was his matesprit, and being flushed for her added warm red into the darkness. He could be content with her warmth, even if for a short while, as his world began to splinter. (The implosion of the Prince of Rage, and who was caught in the fall out.) T Because I'm too paranoid.


**First Homestuck Fic...so be gentle. Or harsh. Just leave a review, constructive criticism is appreciated. I don't know how this is gonna be accepted...so yeah. I'm just gonna.. *runs away awkwardly***

**I do not own Homestuck, or any of it's characters. Those go to Andrew Hussie.**

_His sixth sweep came and went, and as it passed, he began to feel things. Something stirred within the back of the Prince of Rage's mind._

_Something black, something dark, something hungry._

_It whispered to him from the other side of a splintering obsidian wall, a wheedling voice slipping through the cracks. The voice was both quiet and loud, screaming at a whisper, gnashing unseen fangs against his skull until he wanted to tear out his own hair. It told him to do terrible terrible things._

_It was his blood rite, who he was, who he was meant to become. He didn't know if it was The Messiah who told him to, he didn't know what it was, but it never stopped._

_Kill them, kill the lowbloods, paint rainbows to honor his Lord with their filthy blood, killkillkillkill._

_He couldn't sleep without them coming, the nightmares._

_He couldn't eat, sickened by thoughts he couldn't stop._

_The only thing that kept him going, was Meulin._

_He wasn't just the Prince of Rage, he was Kurloz._

_There wasn't just blood with her, there was hair caught in fingers, greasy paint coming away on another's grey skin, fluttery kisses, and something bright and warm enough to sear away the dark._

_She kept him centered, a bright star in the center of a disintegrating black hole._

_She was his matesprit, and being flushed for her added warm red into the darkness._

_He could be content with her warmth, even if for a short while, as his world began to splinter._

_But the voice became voices, they became louder and louder._

_Kill. You are higher then they, it is your caste-right._

_But why?_

_Filth runs in their veins, the world must be prepared for his arrival, it must be purged of the filth and the muck. It is your duty to eradicate all that dirties the world before the coming of the mirthful messiah._

_She, with her olive-tinted blood and wide eyes, did not see his horrorterrors. She didn't know how his hands had begun to quake to take up the mirthful work. She didn't realize how he had begun to devolve._

_He didn't want to, oh please messiah please, he didn't want to kill them. Oh, he didn't want to, don't make him._

_But he must._

_He became darker, sinister._

_He heard them whisper. He had become unsettling, as he tried not to slay them. His mind became poison. They were unimportant._

_Except her._

_She still flushed for him, still pressed feathery kisses to his brow and smoothed back his hair away when it all became too much._

_He kept her close as the world became distorted and hated._

_They all were unfitting, the voices were right. Sullen and toxic, worrying the world with their unmiraculous problems. He tried to get them to convert, a final respect to the memories of his once loved friends, where had they gone? They could praise the messiah and live, avoid the angel of double death on this world and in their dreams._

_They did not covert._

_They would not be saved._

_He existed in this middle ground, the darker prince, still finding solace in her warmth and existence in his arms._

_She'd asked him why he'd become like this way, why he was fading._

_He'd spoken of the messiahs, and shown her the way._

_She lit his dreary path, until the messiahs saw it best to take even her from him._

_He had fallen asleep with the comforting purr of her in his arms. Her scent perfuming his clothes, and her steady breath and the beat of her blood-pusher lulling him to forget what lurked behind his eyelids._

_The nightmare had pooled inside his mind, filling his vision with death and despair. The messiah came and stood on a pile of bodies, their blood pooling to a river._

_He kneeled before his Lord, and watched as he devoured the impure. It wasn't until he held a familiar form inside his Lord's massive hand, that horror hit the kneeling Prince. _

_Her normally kind eyes were a pupil-less white and staring at him, asking him why. Her thick black hair was slick with green, fanning down to hang unnaturally. Her ever-smiling lips were a line of horror, immobile._

_The Messiah lifted her to his lips, which opened to reveal a cracked blackness. He bit down, as Kurloz cried out._

_A single plea to accommodate a splash of olive green as the world splintered._

_As his wall splintered._

_As he splintered._

_The world tore itself apart, and he was in the center, screaming._

_Screaming and screaming, louder and louder, as he ceased to exist._

_He awoke, his mouth wide, still screaming._

_Wild violet eyes, he was suffocated by a scorching weight._

_He pushed it away, still unseeing._

_The world was still too bright, swirling colors pressing into him._

_Hands gripped his, which were clasped around his ears._

_Kurloz! The voice was pain-wrought, primal, filled with tears and hurt._

_He had no air, he shut off. His cry died off, leaving only silence._

_In which there came a drip._

_A drip of olive down her face._

_Meulin kneeled before him, green lines trailing down her cheeks to drip down to pound against the floor._

_Thick black hair, matted with olive blood, more dripping._

_She sobbed, breathing heavily, large eyes filled with green meeting his, before she dove into his chest. She hid from the world, as he shakily whispered words of comfort._

_How was he to know that they fell on unknowing ears?_

_She didn't acknowledge him, he said her name. She didn't move. He said it over and over. Look at me, keep me whole, Meulin, MeulinMeulin, why won't you look at me? Meulin please._

_He shook her, fear crippling him._

_How she'd looked at him, confused, fearful._

_He'd said it again and again._

_Meulin please, say something. Speak. Can't you hear me? Meulin this is not funny. This isn't funny at all. Please. Oh please. Say SOMETHING._

_She'd raised petite hands, ones that had caressed him, to her ears. Understanding, fear, sorrow all jumping into her eyes._

_She couldn't hear him._

_No_

_He couldn't have done this. Couldn't have hurt her. HIS MIRACULOUS MEULIN. Couldn't have done this to her._

_Yet he had._

_She did not hear again._

_Trapped in a world of silence, that he had pushed her into._

_She kept on smiling, even as she suffered._

_How could he have done this?_

_His cursed voice, his curse, her curse._

_He would never harm her again._

_She had always loved his voice, and now, she would be the last to hear it._

_The voices continued to whisper as he bit down again and again, filling his mouth with his own tangy blood._

_They shouted as he threaded coarse black thread into the silvery blunt needle._

_He deserved it, deserved pain._

_For Meulin._

_FOR MEULIN_

_They were silent as her face blanched in terror, as she reached trembling fingertips to brush the stitches that now bound his lips._

_He held her, olive staining his chest, indigo pooling into her hand as his tears slipped away from him._

_His blood pusher ached as he raised a hand and traced it over and over again._

_So sorry. Flushed for you._

_So SoRrY fLuShEd FoR yOu. _

**Leave a review? Maybe? :o)**


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